Stressing Over Stress Tests

When last we parted, I was scheduled for a nuclear stress test. Boy, was I stressing, too!. My idea of a stress test was for some swarthy doctor with a maniacal laugh to shoot me up with God knows what, bring me to the brink of a heart attack, and then HOPE to be able to stop it before it happened. Everyone kept telling me it wasn't like that at all, but I knew they were lying.

When I got to the cardiologist's office, I was first fitted with a lovely little IV in the back of my hand, injected with some kind of atomic Kickapoo Joy Juice,  and sent back to the waiting room, where I noticed that everyone else had their own little hand IV. At least I wouldn't die alone.

My turn came and I walked to my doom. I was then instructed to climb (HA!!!) into this chair that looked like some kind of torture device, put my forehead against the front, and hang my arms over the side. And DON"T MOVE.

Then it began. The chair started to spin. It went left, then right, then up, then down. Almost like a carnival ride. I actually started to have a little fun. And then it was over and I had to climb down.  (HA!!!)

The second part was just like a regular EKG. I'm not sure it turned out 100% accurate because my nurse was this dark eyed handsome man who surely sent my ticker into a world of it's own.

I kept waiting for the heart attack part, but it never came.

The other part I'm still waiting for is the super power part. One would think that if one were injected with nuclear waste, one would at least come out of it with Spidey webs, or invisibility or something. Everybody keeps telling me it isn't like that, but I just know they're lying.